The Dragon's Path

return for years. And the bank, with its holding company in Carse, had connections throughout the northern countries. If it was a grander vision than she’d meant to bring to the table, that was fine. The others couldcompare how many soldiers they had, how cheaply they could do something small, how treaties and trade agreements could be brought to bear. Cithrin could say,
I am the biggest dog in this pit. I can do what you cannot.
    She liked the feel of it.
    The courtyard was silent for a moment, then as the Kurtadam drew in an angry breath, the half-Jasuru with the green eyes spoke.
    “She’s right,” he said.
    Qahuar Em was sitting at the governor’s side. In the light that spilled down from the saturated blue sky, his skin had taken an almost bronze tone, like a statue brought to life. When he smiled, she saw that his teeth, white as a Firstblood’s, had the hint of Jasuru points to them.
    “You’re joking,” the Kurtadam said, sounding deflated.
    “You could do it by halves,” he said, his gaze shifting to the Kurtadam for a moment before shifting back to Cithrin. “But what would stop Daun from doing the same? Or Upurt Marion? Newport or Maccia? You could make Porte Oliva a little bit safer, and be more popular as a place to trade for a few years while other cities followed your example. Or you could move decisively, dominate trade in the region, and capture the trade route for a generation. It just depends what your goals are, I suppose.”
    Cithrin found herself smiling at him even as it occurred to her that he’d spoken even less than she had. She’d need to watch him, she thought. And as if he’d read her mind, he grinned.
    The conversation went on for another hour, but the wind had shifted. The Kurtadam restricted himself to petulant asides, the mercenary reframed the military aspect as part of a wider strategy, and the Tralgu lapsed back into silence. The undercurrent of anger and suspicion was palpable, andthe governor seemed quite pleased with the entire proceeding. When Cithrin left, her beaded shawl wrapped around her shoulders, it was hard to remember to step like a woman twice her age. She wanted to walk from the ankle.
    She waited on the steps looking out across the square toward the great marble temple, pretending a piety she didn’t feel. The sun sank lower in the west, shining into the temple’s face and making the stone glow. The moon, already risen, hung in the cloudless indigo of the sky, a half circle of white and a half of darkness. Between the beauty of city and heaven and the perhaps slightly too much wine she’d drunk, she nearly missed her quarry when he walked by.
    “Excuse me,” she said.
    The half-Jasuru turned, looking back over his shoulder as if he didn’t know her.
    “You’re called Qahuar?” she said.
    He corrected her pronunciation gently. Standing on the step below hers, their heads were even.
    “I wanted to thank you for supporting me in there,” she said.
    He grinned. His face was broader than it had seemed in the courtyard. His skin less rough, his eyes softer. It struck her that he was roughly the age she pretended to be.
    “I was going to say the same of you,” he said. “Between us, I think we’ll shake loose the smaller players. I admit, I hadn’t been expecting to compete against the Medean bank.”
    “I hadn’t expected to be competing at all,” she said. “Still, it’s flattering of the governor to think of me.”
    “He’s using you to get better terms from me,” Qahuar said. And then, seeing her reaction, “I don’t mind. If it goes poorly, he’ll be using me to get better terms from you. One doesn’t reach his position by being sentimental.”
    “Still,” Cithrin said.
    “Still,” Qahuar said, as if agreeing.
    They stood silently for a moment. His expression shifted, as if seeing her for the first time. As if she confused him. No. Not confused. Intrigued. The angle of his smile changed, and Cithrin felt a warmth in her own expression. She found herself particularly pleased that the man was her rival.
    “You’ve made the game more interesting, Magistra. I hope to see you again soon.”
    “I think you should,” Cithrin said.

Geder
     
    I n the rolling flint hills where Sarakal gave way in no clearly marked fashion to the Keshet, the term
prince
had a different meaning than Geder was accustomed to. A man might call himself a prince if he controlled a certain amount of land, or commanded a force of soldiers, or had